Martha’s thoughts spun
Martha’s thoughts spun in all directions as memories flooded back—nights she’d lain awake hearing scratches in the walls, the soft thud in the attic, the cold chill creeping over her for no reason. Everything suddenly made sense. “It’s been living here, hasn’t it?” she asked, her voice thin with horror. She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering at the realization.
George’s gaze remained fixed on her, his face unreadable. He saw the dots connecting in her mind, watched as her disbelief gave way to dawning comprehension. “It’s connected, isn’t it?” she pressed, her voice firmer now. The fear was still there, but it was no longer paralyzing. The pieces were coming together—and what they formed was far more terrifying than she’d imagined.
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